


The Convention - Midnight Snack (Day 19: Cooking/baking)

by clotpoleofthelord (plantainleaf), drownedinblissfulconfusion (tundraeternal)



Series: The Convention [19]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Conventions, Food Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 13:46:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plantainleaf/pseuds/clotpoleofthelord, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tundraeternal/pseuds/drownedinblissfulconfusion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>30-Day OTP Challenge</p><p>A succession of Cockles fics & ficlets, set at a fictional convention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Convention - Midnight Snack (Day 19: Cooking/baking)

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I do not personally know any of the people I'm writing about. As far as I'm concerned, these are fictional characters in some alternate universe, which exists someplace between our own and the French Drop universe, who happen to bear superficial resemblance to our boys (and girls). Their conversations, personalities, and innermost thoughts are generally extrapolated from plausible reality, occasionally made up from whole cloth.
> 
> *** Many thanks to PlantainLeaf, who co-wrote this one and came up with the idea of s'mores! ***

They sneak out of the ballroom, snickering and holding hands, dodging fans and staff and anyone else up late enough to still be in the halls.

There’s a close call when they hear Richard’s voice from much closer than expected at one point, but they duck around a dark corner, trying not to laugh as they hear the conversation pass by. Sounds like Matt and Rob are with him, the trio off to find a late night snack somewhere nearby.

Misha turns to him as their voices fade into the distance, eyes sparkling. “I think I may have an idea.” He slides back out to the hallway slowly.

Jensen watches him, smirking, and follows as he flattens himself against the wall and edges down the hallway, ducking down behind a cart. He’s doing some sort of James Bond thing, still holding Jensen’s hand tightly.

Finally they reach a nondescript door that Misha fiddles with, frowning when the handle doesn’t turn.

“Couldn’t bribe anyone for the key this time?” asks Jensen.

Misha doesn’t respond. He reaches into his wallet, pulling out a battered old supermarket rewards card, and slips it in between the door and the doorframe, brow furrowing as he wiggles it back and forth.

“ _Misha!_ What are you doing?” Jensen hisses, glancing around to make sure no one’s seeing this. “You can’t just break into someone’s room!”

The door opens with a click, and Misha drags him inside.

It’s a storeroom of some sort, full of the sorts of non-perishables you’d expect to find in a hotel: giant cans of beans, soups, bags of flour and rice and one enormous tub of chocolate sauce.

Misha’s already in a corner, rifling through the shelves. Jensen shuts the door, shaking his head as his heart rate returns to its normal speed. The door’s a thick one, and it’s late; they’re probably pretty safe for a while, at least.

“Aha!” Misha is triumphant. “Found them.”

“Found what?”

Misha holds up a bag of marshmallows and a box of graham crackers in one hand, and a gigantic chocolate bar in the other. “Supplies.” He roots around a bit more, finding a plastic bag and filling it with his ingredients. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a pen, a tiny pad of paper, and his wallet, scribbling something down and setting the paper with a twenty dollar bill on the shelf. “See? We are absolutely not stealing.” He’s grinning widely now, nose crinkling, and Jensen can’t help but kiss him firmly, pressing him against the shelving.

He’s actually caught Misha by surprise, for once, and the other man lets out an _oomph_ as he drops the bag and slips hands around Jensen’s back. The kiss is familiar by now, welcoming and wet and open. Jensen’s hands are buried in Misha’s hair and their legs are intertwined, and soon they’re pushing shirts and vests and ties aside to reach bare skin. He’s just about to reach for Misha’s fly when there’s a sound outside the door and they both freeze.

The footsteps recede down the hall and both relax. Jensen smiles against Misha’s mouth and pulls away, panting, and rests his forehead against Misha’s. “Time to move this upstairs?”

Misha’s grin is back, and he picks his bag up, eyes twinkling. “Lead on, fearless leader.”

* * * * *

They make it back to Jensen’s room with a minimum of hijinks, surprisingly, and Jensen locks the door behind them and starts pulling off his tux piece by piece. When he turns to glance at Misha, assuming he’s doing the same, he finds the other man setting a plate in the tiny microwave on top of the fridge.

He wanders over as Misha hits 'start', wrapping his arms around him and hooking his chin over his shoulder. Together, they watch the two marshmallows sandwiched between chocolate and graham crackers expand and threaten to explode, then slowly sink.

“It’s not quite the same as a campfire,” Misha begins apologetically.

“Nah, this is way better. S’mores and a comfortable bed? I mean, have you ever tried to have sex in a sleeping bag?”

“Of course.” Misha looks at him like it’s absurd he even had to ask.

“Yeah, yeah, forgot who I was talking to. Anyway, we’re too old for that shit these days. I am anyway. I know, you’re eternally youthful or something.”

Misha turns his head to kiss Jensen sideways. “Damn right, old man. You’re as young as the women you feel. Or men. My youthfulness is equal opportunity.” 

“Oh I’m gratified to hear that.”

Their kiss is interrupted by the beeping of the microwave. Misha slips out of Jensen’s arms to pull out the plate, now a mess of melted goo.

“Hmm, looks like I left it in too long.” He laughs and runs his finger through the sticky mass, then licks it clean. Jensen moans. 

Misha takes another fingerful and holds it in front of Jensen’s mouth. Grabbing Misha’s wrist to keep him steady, Jensen slowly tongues the melted sweet off of Misha’s finger, drawing it into his mouth to swirl his tongue around it just for good measure. He closes his eyes to savor the taste and sensation. When he opens them again, Misha’s eyes are dark, aroused, and he’s staring at Jensen so purposefully that it makes him blush. 

“Lie down,” he orders. “Take your pants off first.”

Jensen grins and does as he’s told, stripping the rest of the way down and hopping onto the bed to lounge seductively. 

Misha puts down the plate long enough to divest himself of his own clothes, then picks the s’mores back up and crawls on top of Jensen, miraculously without letting any food slide off of the plate. He bends down to place a kiss to Jensen’s chest, then, with a gleefully naughty smile, begins to paint chocolate-marshmallow goo over Jensen’s nipples. 

Jensen gasps at the sensation of sticky warmth, and tries not to buck up against Misha. He loses control, through, when Misha places the plate out of reach and begins to lick Jensen clean. He starts with broad strokes of his tongue, then teases at Jensen’s nipples with just the tip, licking harder, making him cry out. When he presses his open mouth to Jensen’s chest, Jensen feels his muscles tightening, his hips pushing up and trying to find friction for his now aching erection. 

Misha obliges, grinding down against him and turning to his other nipple to give it the same attention.

Jensen scrabbles his hands along Misha’s back, then reaches down to knead his ass. He feels Misha’s breath go hot and strained against his chest, and he pushes hard, running his finger down along the dip between Misha’s cheeks. 

“Mish,” he whispers, low and throaty.

“Mmm?” It sounds like Misha is having trouble forming words as Jensen’s finger runs lower, circling around his hole. 

“Mish, I want to fuck you.”

It’s like he’s said the magic words. Misha moans and cants his hips downward to slide his ass along Jensen’s cock. They rock together, friction sweet and sparking and yet still not enough. Jensen needs to be in Misha, right now. He gathers his presence of mind long enough to rest his hands on Misha’s hips until he stills, then reaches for the lube in the bedside table. 

He can’t quite reach, trapped as he is beneath Misha’s weight, but Misha sees where he’s going and sits up to grab it. He takes Jensen’s hand, and pops open the bottle, drizzling it over Jensen’s fingers, then leans forward to let Jensen slide his slick fingers down and in. Misha’s back bows when Jensen’s first finger pushes past the muscle and inside. His mouth goes dry with sucking in air; it’s been a long time since he’s been on this end of sex. He’d forgotten how it feels so _good_ \--so dirty and raw and aching. 

“Another,” he whispers to Jensen’s mouth, and relishes the burn of the second finger. Jensen moves slow, stroking him from inside, and Misha rides his fingers, muscles relaxing more with every motion. When Jensen’s fingers hit his prostate, he sees sparks behind his eyes and he throws his head back, gasping for breath. He reaches for a condom and rolls it onto Jensen’s cock with shaking hands. 

“Jensen, god, get in me. I need you in me.” He’s pushing Jensen’s hands away and positioning himself over Jensen before he even gets the words out. 

“God you’re eager. Are you sure you’re ready? I don’t want to hurt you.” At another time, the thoughtful sentiment would be touching, but right now they’re on fire and Misha needs. With his hand around Jensen’s cock to guide it home, he sinks down, both of them holding their breaths at the tightness of the fit. Misha wasn’t quite ready for it, and it aches, but he doesn’t care. He wills himself to loosen, and sinks down to rest against Jensen’s chest. 

“Misha, Jesus, you feel so good. You’re so good.” Jensen whispers into his ear and kisses his hair, his temple, wherever he can reach. He keeps still, waiting for Misha's cue.

Finally Misha grows used to the fullness in him, and he pushes up, bracing a hand on Jensen’s chest as he begins to move, pulling off slowly and then pushing back down. As Jensen catches the rhythm he can’t help but rock his hips, anticipating. Soon they’re full throttle; Misha riding Jensen, fast and hard and glorious, and Jensen, eyes squeezed shut, one hand wrapped firm around Misha’s wrist, still braced against his chest, grounding himself. 

Misha leans forward to kiss Jensen, sloppy and artless, too caught up in their pleasure for finesse. The new angle is perfect, Misha rolls his hips down until the head of Jensen’s cock catches his prostate with nearly every thrust. He feels the orgasm building, tightening in his balls and the back of his throat, and he eases off slightly, wanting to make this last. 

Jensen is beautiful beneath him, no longer in conscious control of his body, just instinctually responding to Misha’s motion. 

“Please, Mish, please, there, god, yes,” he chants in time with their pulse until he’s overtaken and his words become incoherent sounds and ‘now, now, now’. 

As soon as Misha can hear that Jensen’s close, he bears down again and lets his own orgasm tear through him, a shock wave of pleasure running straight from his core to the tips of his fingers, come shooting up across his stomach and dripping down onto Jensen’s. He clenches around Jensen, and Jensen shouts his own release, drawing up his knees to curl around the sensation. 

As soon as Jensen’s lowered his legs again, Misha flops bonelessly to lie beside him, shoulders touching, their fingers curled loosely together. Lazily Jensen pulls off the condom and tosses it aside, reaching for tissues to clean themselves up a bit. 

“Shower?” Misha asks drowsily. 

“Yeah. Just give me a minute.” Jensen turns his head to kiss Misha’s shoulder. “Mmmm, or maybe a few minutes.”

Side by side they drift to sleep, s’mores on the bedside table forgotten.


End file.
